


Take me to the real beginning where it all ended

by varignon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Starbucks, Stucky - Freeform, stevebucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varignon/pseuds/varignon
Summary: The dreams had never kept him awake at night. Visions of happenings in a time and place he couldn’t recognise entertained his sleeping hours. This night however had been different from all the others. This time it had been scary.He felt like a child admitting that, that he was scared of a dream. Nightmares were for children and not adults. But something about this one had been so different.





	Take me to the real beginning where it all ended

**Author's Note:**

> Told from Bucky's point of view

Bucky heard the familiar roar of an engine starting up, his cue that it was time to wake up. He rolled out of bed taking care not to pull the covers off Steve. It was deep January, and the cold had been hurting Steve worse than usual; warranting their sharing of the bed. Each new year Bucky told Steve it was getting too cold again, that it was best for his health, Steve’s arguments grew weaker. Steve had been a little ball of vinegar the first time Bucky had suggested the idea. 

“I can’t do this to you, don’t make me more of a burden, I don’t need any help i’ve got this.” Yada yada, the same excuses Bucky heard about everything. 

“Trust me ya little punk, I don’t wanna see your ugly mug anymore than I have to.” They were both secretly glad for the arrangement of course, and Bucky was glad to see the convincing get easier each year. 

He got dressed as quietly as he could before heading out the door to work. Another morning at the docks unloading the newest shipments of clothes and produce and who knew what. All Bucky knew was that it brought in the money. Later he’d head to the factory until dark. It wasn’t what he had dreamt of as a kid, it wasn’t what anyone dreams of as a kid, but reality was reality and he couldn’t lose Steve. So he kept working as many jobs as he could to keep up their little apartment. 

That night when Bucky arrived home he felt his feet would drop right off his legs. When he opened the door to hear music playing he knew that unfortunately tonight wouldn’t be a night for sleeping. Bucky had tried in the past to get Steve a radio, but he was adamant that records had a raw importance. It was rare when Steve would put the records on; he usually saved the melodies for when he was working on a painting or when he had good news to share. Tonight, it was a painting. Bucky rounded the corner of their small kitchen and came to an empty living room. The furniture had been pushed to the walls and Steve had set his easel up in the very middle of the room and was humming along to the music; paintbrush rising and falling before him. Bucky made his way over, swinging his arms around Steve’s waist and resting his head against Steve’s shoulder. 

“C’mon Bucky, i’m trying to concentrate here!” Steve waved the dirty paintbrush toward Bucky’s face. 

Bucky chuckled and left, throwing himself onto their old couch which was now resting in the corner of the room. “I just wanted to see what Michelangelo was painting this time. Seems like he’s decided to take a break from angels and Gods.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Bucky you know I gotta follow the rules of the assignments.” He returned to the painting, a look of concentration on his face.  As much as Bucky teased, he really was impressed at this painting. Steve’s art never ceased to amaze him,  _ the guy really did have something special  _ he was always saying, but this painting was different from the usual brand. It was delicate, the little angels painted carefully, the gold almost shining off the canvas. Bucky lay content, watching Steve paint. 

“What, am I boring you now?” Steve said jokingly. Bucky hadn’t realized he had been drifting off. 

“Of course, what’s more fun than watching paint dry?” he mumbled , before standing up and heading back over to Steve. Bucky laid a hand on his back.

“Really though Stevie, this one’s wonderful. You’ll do great, don’t worry.” Steve blushed, appreciative of the complement. 

“And now,” Bucky said dramatically with a wave of his arms, “I must take my leave. Work early again tomorrow. Don’t work yourself too hard either,” he said narrowing his eyes and pointing out a finger. “I know how you get when you paint. I don’t need to wake up tomorrow to find you passed out in here covered in paint.”

“Aw come on Bucky I don’t-” but Bucky had cut Steve off by raising his hands in surrender and then disappearing into their bedroom. Grinning to himself about Steve, he stripped down and got into his pyjamas before sinking into their squeaky mattress. It wasn’t long at all before everything went dark and his breathing slowed, dreams beginning to form.

Recently the dreams had been strange. At first he thought his mind was running away with fantastical ideas. Steve, tall and muscular, dressed out in military uniforms. Steve, talking it up with high ranking officers, Steve, now the one providing and protecting. Bucky tried to interpret the dreams each new night he had them, but as they ever changed he stopped worrying and just let them happen. There were many about Steve. Them on a battlefield together in some distant country, going out for drinks and joking together, sharing a tent together. Bucky reveled at this Steve. So completely different, not just physically but warped and hardened in speech and concerns. Each new dream was like waking up to a new world. He used to tell Steve about them. “You’d never believe this, but you had joined the army! You! In the army!” But the stranger they got the quieter Bucky became at sharing them. Something had seemed too real about them, not just the subconscious workings of his mind. Soon the dreams faded to the back of his mind, hazy images by the time he woke up. He didn’t mind forgetting them. As happy as they were, Bucky was unsettled by them. But nothing had unsettled him quite like this night. This night, he woke up in a cold sweat. 

His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it was shaking the walls. Bucky glanced around wildly, as if searching for something. Soon the dream cleared his mind and he became aware of Steve grabbing his shoulder. Such a tiny Steve. Suddenly he realized he wasn’t lying in the snow, with the train rolling away far above him. He was here with Steve, in their bed, in their apartment. 

“Bucky, what’s wrong. Are you alright?” Steve was asking over and over, a scared look in his eyes. It took Bucky a while to make his mouth work. “Yeah i’m alright i’m just- it was just a bad dream ok?”

Steve looked unconvinced. “Buck are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m sure Steve. Just, just go back to bed ok? I’m fine.” Steve’s hand hesitated on Bucky’s shoulder before falling away. He lay back down and Bucky rolled over, facing away. In truth Bucky was terrified. He lay awake that night, trying to suppress his shaking as he reviewed the dream in his mind. He had been falling away from a train, Steve dressed in a strange outfit reaching out through the door. Falling for so long and it was so cold. He was alone and there was snow everywhere. The next thing he had noticed was the pain. He didn’t realize he had stopped falling, didn’t see all the blood, he could only think about the pain. That was when he had started awake.

The next morning was miserable for both of them. Steve was giving Bucky the cold shoulder, obviously hurt over last night, and Bucky was weary from not sleeping. It was at the factory that their day was about to get worse.  Bucky was called from the line along with many other men. A man in a uniform greeted them, shook their hands, handed them their uniforms, explained what was happening. Bucky could barely process the cheers from the other men around him, his world was narrowing to the little brown clothes in his hands. 

“Barnes, you’ll be reporting for dut-” he heard the voice say faintly, still not paying attention as it faded away. The war effort was becoming more desperate, and the draft had been called on. Bucky was going to war and he didn’t know how to tell Steve. 

_____

It had been months since he had left New York, left Steve behind. He hated being away from him, hated not knowing if he was safe. At least the checks heading home were bigger than anything from the docks and factories combined. The room Bucky was in had a green pallor to it, caused by the lack of proper lighting. The leather holding him to the table was tight and rubbed painfully against his skin. He didn’t want to forget about Steve but these experiments, something about them was making everything but the present seem so far away. It could’ve been the pain but Bucky knew there was something else about it. So many shots, mystery drugs being injected into his system day after day. All Bucky could do was repeat his name. Keep repeating it and maybe someone would come. 

Scared. 

Scared was how he felt when he was pulled out of a haze of pain, a familiar face above him. It was Steve. But he was so tall and dressed in heavy leather that didn’t hide the muscles now changing his frame. At first Bucky thought his dreams had returned. This was the Steve from his dreams come to keep Bucky company as he lay dying in this godforsaken lab. But this Steve kept talking, pulling the leather straps away, pulling at Bucky trying to get him to sit up. Bucky’s mind was racing desperately trying to read the situation. The longer he stared at Steve the more he became aware of his present. Bucky was trapped, trapped in a Hydra base weak from the machines and drugs with no way to escape. And here was Steve in front of him, calling to him, telling him there was a way out. 

“I thought you were dead!”

“I thought you were smaller.” Bucky was able to mumble as Steve helped him off the table and dragged him along through corridor after corridor. 

“Did it hurt?”

“A little.”

The longer they walked the more that the haze in his head began to clear. There were loud alarms sounding off, lights flashing and men running in every direction. Bucky didn’t ask Steve what was happening; they were at war and anything was possible. It was clear that Steve knew where he was going as his steps were strong and wide so Bucky continued to cling to his side, not wasting time by asking unnecessary questions. The silence between the two left Bucky with time to think about all that had happened since he left Steve on his own. 

Thinking was all Bucky seemed to do the next few months. After returning to the base camp along with the rest of the 107th he had too much time to himself. Sure, he was still following the fight, going out with the others, continuing the war effort. But it was leisure time that was beginning to haunt Bucky and not the bullets and spray from explosions. He had grilled Steve upon their return, trying to figure out everything that had transpired during their time apart. He made Steve explain everything he could about the super soldier program, about the way he was now. Bucky didn’t know how to feel about the change. The Steve of his dreams was always entertaining, but it was a thought that Bucky always knew was never a possibility. Now that it was, now that it was staring him right in the face, Bucky was consumed with worry. The longer the war went on, the more and more dreams were coming true. He didn't want to know how long it would be until they had to board a train. 

_____

A door slammed, separating Bucky from Steve. The Hydra man was relentless and continued moving forward, attacking. Doing his best to fight back Bucky shot off round after round.  His handgun clicked out of bullets and he fell back hard against the train wall. The door opened behind him and he saw Steve standing there. He threw Bucky a new gun. They worked together in tandem, a perfect team sending off each new round of bullets putting an end to their opponent. A new foe loomed out of the smoke, blasting a fiery hole through the side of the train, knocking them both to the floor.  This was it. The real beginning of all the nightmares. He knew he wouldn’t make it out alive. He knew that this train was where it all ended, where he lost Steve, where he loses himself. Bucky steeled himself. He wouldn’t lay down and accept it. He had to fight; find some way to make it out alive or drag those Hydra bastards down with him. Bucky grabbed Steve’s shield and he fumbled as he tried to cock his gun. He was determined to see the end of the war out with Steve.  A blue blast hit the shield and knocked him backwards. Bucky’s mind was racing. 

It was like every suspenseful story he had ever heard. Everything was moving in slow motion. Bucky felt a disconnect from his body almost as if he was watching himself fall, but all too aware of what was going to happen when he reached the ground. The snowflakes slid through his vision like icy diamonds, the wind whipped through his hair. Never once did he take his eyes off Steve. Everything came into focus for a moment; his hair falling in front of those azure eyes, his lips curved in a perfect ‘O’, the hand desperately reaching downward. Buck closed his eyes and he was back in Brooklyn; defending the little rebel who always picked the bigger fight. It was the cold winter nights they shared cuddled in bed, the room growing dark around them, and it all went black before Buck even realized he hit the ground. 


End file.
